


Thanksgiving Is When You Celebrate It

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [232]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two feasts are better than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving Is When You Celebrate It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyuuketsukirui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuuketsukirui/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> References:  
> [A Little Bit o' Heaven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843594)  
> [Stuffing for Breakfast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2756795)  
> [Irish Cream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4276164)
> 
> Thanksgivings we've celebrated with our lads:  
> [Thanksgiving Kisses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798084)  
> [A Paduan Thanksgiving](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1907886)  
> [The Holiday Table](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4140567)  
> [A Place at the Table](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4209198)  
> [Thanksgiving Reverie](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4397039)  
> [Thanksgiving is Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4397117)  
> [Stuffing for Breakfast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2756795)  
> [A Thanksgiving for Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5235143)
> 
> Please read A Thanksgiving for Two first.
> 
> To kyuuketsukirui, with my thanks for everything.

Thanksgiving Friday.

Traditionally, this was the day of the Great Stuffing Grab, when Ian and Quinn tried to get Aslan's share of the stuffing before the other could put the grab on it. That event would have to wait until tomorrow now, because Friday had become the day of the professors' holiday celebration this year.

After they'd missed the family feast at the Mastersons, due to a traffic pile-up in the snow, Jo had unexpectedly called to tell them that there would be a second party at Padua on Friday afternoon for the whole clan.

"We have the best folks in the galaxy," said Ian after the phone call, to which Quinn could only nod vigorously.

And Jo and the rest of the family proved it, when the professors arrived at Ian's childhood home at 2 pm in the bright sunshine that couldn't have been more of a contrast to Thursday's weather. The hugs and kisses he and Quinn got now more than made up for missing them yesterday.

The holiday table looked the same as it always did on Thanksgiving Day, with Grandma's best lace tablecloth spread lovingly over shining mahogany. It was heaped with platters of white and dark meat turkey; Ginny's sage and sausage stuffing; Keith's cranberry sauce with lemon zest; sweet potatoes sprinkled with cinnamon; mixed vegetables with melted Havarti cheese on top; Jo's buttermilk biscuits and giblet gravy; Kathy's crushed-hazelnut brownies; John's mulled apple cider; along with fresh pies and a dark-chocolate layer cake from the local bakery.

"We're having two Thanksgivings this year," Lelia marveled.

Another holiday tradition was upheld -- while the others were "filling in the corners," as Professor Tolkien so eloquently put it, Quinn was engrossed in his third plate of dark-meat turkey and all the fixings, as Ian cheered him on, while nibbling on chocolate almonds.

When even Quinn had eaten to his stomach's content, Lelia delighted the grown-ups by helping her uncles clear the table and staying in the kitchen with them to clean up. Then the family decided to watch college football on television, where the Skyhawks were playing the Darthmouth Maulers. After the Skyhawks had won in a rout, they'd all cheered their favorite team. With Luke fight songs still on their lips, Ian and Quinn had driven home, with abundant leftovers in the back seat and smiles on their faces a parsec wide.

As soon as they got home, they put the food in the refrigerator and used the facilities. Then they fed and watered the puppies, including special Thanksgiving treats from their Grandma Ginny. Artoo gave out a soulful yip, which Sandy answered with one of his own, that sounded like the pups were celebrating the holiday, as well.

The men changed into old Skyhawks sweatsuits, impossibly soft and comfortable. Ian got a fire going, while Quinn locked up for the night. The light from the flames was the only illumination in their living room, except for the TV.

A romantic vibe filled their little bit o' heaven.

And now they were sitting with their feet up on the sofa recliner, with a DVD of the first in "The Chronicles of Narnia" series murmuring its magic on the television screen. Quinn had snagged their blue and green quilt and drawn it up over them to the waist. Ian's fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace; the puppies were drowsing in their baskets, under the miniature blankets Violet had made for them. There was not a place in the galaxy Quinn would rather be.

Ian looked over at his herven with the most adorable grin on his face. "Ready for another feast?" he asked with a wink. Apparently, the tryptophan in the turkey hadn't kicked in yet.

"Am I a hobbit, or what?" Quinn saw Ian's wink and raised it with a crinkle. "Think I'll start with this tasty bit of forehead." He licked the tempting crease between Ian's eyebrows. "So far, so delicious."

Ian murmured his approval. He picked up Quinn's hand and nuzzled the palm. "Mmm-hmm."

Quinn ruffled through Ian's copper spikes, making them all the spikier. "Wonder if I've kissed every strand by now," he mused.

Ian nodded. "Oh, yeah. At least twice," he said, in a deadpan worthy of Bob Newhart, but the blue-green sparkle in his eyes betrayed his humor. "Don't think I'll ever go bald. Must be a side effect of your Jedi Kiss Trick."

"What sort of Master would I be if you weren't better off after I kissed you than before?" Quinn drawled, enhancing his soft Irish lilt.

Ian started to laugh, barely getting out his words. "Trust me, you're the best Master for me and always will be. Some things never change." He tilted his head up in an alluring invitation to a kiss.

One which Quinn accepted enthusiastically. "You're my Paduan, all right, born and bred in northern New Jersey." He couldn't resist joining in Ian's laughter.

"Actually, I know you won't believe me, but our family moved to Padua when I was almost 13." Ian's eyes held that mischievous glint that was never far from the surface.

Quinn groaned. "You're right -- I don't believe it. You must be having me on, laddie."

"Okay, okay, you got me. But that would've been amazing, wouldn't it?" Ian said dreamily.

"Yes, it would, but I don't know how you can say these things with a straight face," Quinn marveled.

Ian winked. "Well, you did teach me to be inscrutable. Certainly helps when I get grade complaints."

"And the student outshines his teacher -- just what every Master worth his salt hopes will happen." Quinn smiled at him, his eyes as warm as summertime. "Now, where were we?" He kissed Ian again.

After a few cider-infused kisses, Ian felt warm enough to take off his sweatshirt. He had to disentangle from Quinn momentarily to get it over his head, though. And the loss of that warmth, just for an instant, felt like an icestorm on Hoth, in spite of the fire, which hadn't had a chance to heat the room completely yet. When the sweater was off, he gave a little shiver and dove back into his husband's arms, which now seemed even cozier than before. "I've always known that you're warmer than any sweater," Ian said in perfect contentment.

Quinn himself felt warmer with his laddie snuggling into him and just sat there for a couple of minutes, living in the blissful moment, playing with soft copper strands. It got even better when Ian's strong hand started rubbing his stomach. "Mmmmm."

Ian grinned into Quinn's chest, loving the effect of a simple touch, even through cotton, on his husband. Not surprising, considering their Force-enhanced senses. He continued his petting, relishing Quinn's little happy sounds. When he slid his hand under the sweatshirt, Quinn's skin felt even softer, a smooth surface made for his hand to play on.

Quinn nuzzled into copper locks, scenting the herbs from Ian's shampoo. His lad's wedding ring made a nice contrast to the warmth of his fingers. Ian's hand was getting enticingly close to the waistband of his pants now, and he reveled in each press of a fingertip. The neatly trimmed nails skimmed over his skin, leaving messages both of them could understand.

So Ian knew when Quinn was ready to have his sweatshirt taken off. He eased it up over broad shoulders and long arms, and saw with amusement that Quinn shivered at the sudden chill, just as Ian had done earlier. Ian wouldn't allow that to last and pulled up the quilt around him. He dipped his hand underneath to share more heat from his body, as well.

Now Quinn was as warm as warm could be. He pulled Ian even closer and leaned down for a kiss. "Ah, laddie, this is how to spend the holiday."

"Oh, yeah," Ian whispered against Quinn's lips. "What could be better than this?"

Even though Ian's question was rhetorical, Quinn decided to answer it, but with actions, rather than words. One huge hand covered most of Ian's chest with its tender warmth and stayed put for a delicious moment, before moving to Ian's stomach to work its magic there, too.

"C'mon," Ian urged. His hardening cock bumped against Quinn's pinkie, in a second request. Although it was trapped under two layers of cotton, Ian's penis was relatively comfortable, thanks to the give of the fabric.

Quinn smiled at the feel of his husband's stirring erection; he was elated to be the only one to awaken this fire in Ian, to feel his lad respond to his Life Force. He burrowed under sweatpants and boxer-briefs to reach Ian's twitching cock, already glazed with pre-come. Quinn's fingertips became stickier now than they had when he licked them off after the piece of banana-cream pie he'd eaten in Padua. He had to resist the desire to lick them now; Ian needed the sensation of those fingers on him.

Ian shuddered, hard. Just that one beloved hand could turn him on so much that he knew he had to simmer down, or he would come, just like this, into his herven's palm. He tried to slow his breathing, using aikido techniques Quinn had taught him.

But Quinn was intoxicated by the unbridled way his laddie reacted to his caresses and wanted to drive him wild, now. And he had the upper hand, so to speak. He ran his palm lovingly along Ian's aching flesh, feeling the exquisite ache in his own, as well. Brushing Ian's balls occasionally, Quinn concentrated on the sweet spots he'd found through the years -- the sensitive glans; a hot spot half way up the underside; the velvet of the foreskin.

Ian was bucking into Quinn's hand now, and all he knew was that he had to reach Quinn's lips for a kiss. Groaning into his husband's mouth, he finally let go in rushes of cream. Breathing as hard as if he'd just won a lightsaber battle against Darth Maul, he melted into Quinn's arms, making incoherent sounds, which he knew Quinn would be able to translate into "Fuckin' fantastic!"

Quinn smiled at his puddle of contented laddie, delighted to have brought him to this state. He forgot about his own erection, caught up in Ian's orgasm.

Luckily, Ian was quick to recover and quick to return the favor, as well. He took one look at Quinn -- eyes darkened to the color of a November evening; sweat glistening on his face and neck; penis trying to tear through both layers of material -- and knew that he had to act now.

After a glance from his lad that was telepathic, Quinn used his hands to lift himself one bare inch off of the couch. Instantly taking advantage of this change in position, Ian pulled down Quinn's sweatpants and underwear, just enough for easy access to his cock and balls, all in one motion.

Uncovered, Quinn's erection was even more irresistible; it just begged to be taken into Ian's mouth. Pre-come and saliva blended into a potent combination, as Ian coated the straining cock with it, using his tongue to dab all along the shaft as far as he could go. Ian suckled the tip, thirsty for each new drop of fluid.

Quinn grunted his encouragement, trying to gentle his hand on Ian's hair. He was almost there; he could feel paradise, just out of reach.

Ian wanted to give it to him. He tongued back the foreskin and sucked the sensitive flesh, allowing a little bit of tooth to graze Quinn's penis. That did it, and Ian was rewarded with gushes of semen, which he couldn't keep up with swallowing, so it dripped down his chin. He thought he heard Aslan roaring in the background, on the long-forgotten TV.

Quinn fell back against the couch, taking Ian with him, dribbles and all. Snorting and heaving like horses after the Kentucky Derby, they gradually subsided into the buttery leather of the cushions. Quinn tenderly wiped away the drips, paying particular attention to the adorable cleft in Ian's chin, with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

When he was able to talk once more, Ian couldn't resist teasing Quinn, as usual. "So which feast did you like better?"

"The one without stuffing," said Quinn, carefully keeping a straight face.

But when Ian started to snort again, they both dissolved into laughter anyway.


End file.
